


there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home

by Anonymous



Series: moon called [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Exactly the amount of swearing you would expect from hockey players, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Learning how to deal with your feelings like a responsible adult, Pack Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes you need to break a few hockey sticks before you learn to let your team in
Relationships: Tuukka Rask & Boston Bruins Ensemble, Tuukka Rask & David Krejci, Tuukka Rask & Patrice Bergeron
Series: moon called [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651210
Kudos: 53
Collections: anonymous





	there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more of this, or maybe not. We shall see. Regardless, I'm stuck at home trying to distract myself for the foreseeable future. The pacing is kind of off, but I'm tired of messing with it. It spans 2007-2013
> 
> Title from a mountain goats song, because I'm cliche. 
> 
> Warnings: (Self)destructive coping mechanisms, general league creepiness inherent in this concept, see endnotes for details
> 
> Standard disclaimer, this is a work of fiction inspired by real people. It does not reflect real life at all and if you know anyone mentioned personally, please do not read

When Tuukka first comes to America, he tries to act how people think he should. He keeps his mouth shut, does what they tell him to, and never ever complains. It doesn’t matter that he is the only wolf on the Providence roster, that his wrist is swollen and itchy all the time, that he dislocates his shoulder on his first full moon, that he feels all wrong in his human skin. All that matters is showing up for his team, stopping the puck and making the show. 

“I’m just grateful for the opportunity,” he says and he is, but that’s not the whole story. 

The truth is, he’s angry. He’s angry at Toronto for giving up on him, at the league for torturing him with their stupid xenophobic rules, at his teammates for leaving him out to dry half the time. It’s hard to act the way he  _ should _ when all he wants to do is scream, and throw his stick, and change, but he doesn’t have a choice. He can be grateful or give up and go home.

* * *

The first time he melts down on the ice in Providence, no one dares to approach him in the locker room. But after, Krejci knocks on his door, asking if he wants company.

“Only if you’re quiet,” he says, grudgingly letting the other man in, because he does want company, but not the kind he can get here, when he’s the only wolf and no one understands what he’s feeling. 

Krej is okay though. He lets Tuukka sprawl out on the couch, pets his hair without boxing him in, and mostly keeps his mouth shut. 

It becomes their routine. Whenever Tuukka’s temper boils over, Krej is there with his gentle hands and steady presence. He at least understands what it’s like to be an ocean away from home, speaking a language that doesn’t quite flow off your tongue, even if he doesn’t get the wolf part. 

“Are you angry at yourself?” Krej asks once, after a third period blown lead that makes Tuukka’s eyes flicker yellow all the way through media availability. 

Tuukka growls quietly. “Yes, but not the most.”

“Who are you angry at the most?” 

He tries to put his thoughts in order. “The League, the most  _ most. _ But sometimes it’s too far away so I’m angry at other things that are closer.”

“Like yourself or the team,” Krej says, nodding. “That makes sense.”

Even though he’s still mad, Tuukka finds himself filled with a warm fondness for Krej. It’s so strong he has to look away for a second to get himself under control. 

“You okay?”

He doesn’t look up. “Thanks for all of this,” he mumbles.

“Aw Tuukks was that a feeling?” Krej teases. From anyone else it would sting, but Krej knows him well enough that it’s nothing more than a joke. 

“If you tell the boys, I’ll deny it.”

Krej smiles. “Seriously, though. You don’t need to say thank you. You need this, so here I am. That’s what team means.”

* * *

When Tuukka makes the show, he’s surprised how easy it is to find a place with the Bruins’ Pack. He’s still the only foreign wolf, the only wolf with a cuff. But this team-- his team-- is good to him. Krej still sits up with him during the full moon, holding his hand, stroking his hair, and wiping away his tears. Patrice has started to join them, changing quick, and returning to comfort Tuukka with gentle hands and soft words. Looch, Marchy, and Shawn press close to him, to reassure him that he’s still a part of their Pack and growl at anyone who would laugh at his shaking hands and red eyes. Chara isn’t a wolf, but he sketches pain relieving charms on Tuukka’s wrists when they leave the rink and won’t put up with any nonsense in the locker room. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t name you as a Calder finalist, Tuukks,” Marchy says after the full moon in April. 

“I can,” Tuukka mutters, rubbing his aching wrist. He’s used to it by now. When he plays well, that’s expected and when he has an off night, he’s torn to shreds. No one’s giving him any awards. 

“Fucking bullshit,” says Shawn. He’s half naked and hasn’t made any move to get dressed even though they’re supposed to be at practice in an hour. 

“Probably figured they couldn’t let you win ‘cause a goalie won last year,” Marchy says. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“That doesn’t really make sense,” Looch says. 

Krej kicks him and Looch growls. 

“Yeah Marchy, it’ll take more than a shower to make you presentable,” Shawn chirps, deliberately misunderstanding Looch’s comment. 

“Fuck all of you,” says Marchy. 

Looch opens his mouth to say something else and it’s Patrice’s turn to kick him. “Fuckin’ ow,” he whines. 

“Get up, you have to get ready,” says Bergy shoving him out of the pile of blankets. 

“So much for Saint Patrice,” says Shawn whispers to Tuukka. 

Tuukka smirks. “It’ll take a  _ miracle _ to get Looch to practice on time.”

* * *

In 2011 they win a fucking Stanley Cup! Sure, Timmy takes back the starter job and Tuukka doesn’t play a single minute of the playoffs, but it’s hard to be mad about that-- or anything else-- when the cup is right there and he has a ring on his finger. 

“We fuckin’ won!” Krej screams in his face. 

They’re on a bus, on the way to the plane, leaving Vancouver because if the scene at the arena was anything to go by, they are definitely not welcome. 

“Fuck yeah we did!” Tuukka yells back. 

Brad, who has changed and is sprawled across Patrice’s lap, howls joyfully

“Shut the fuck up,” shouts Looch goodnaturedly. “Horty is trying to fucking sleep back here.” 

“Oh fuck,” says Shawn, way too loud. “Sorry Horty.” 

Looch rolls his eyes. “I mean it dipshits.”

Krej looks at Tuukka and they dissolve into helpless laughter.

* * *

The season after the lockout is the fucking worst. As much as he missed his team and NHL hockey, the freedom of having control over his own body is so  _ so _ hard to give up. And the in the finals they blow a two goal lead in less than 20 fucking seconds, and they go home with nothing. He’s too shocked to be angry when they lose. His eyes don’t even change color. 

Coming back after all that, it sucks. But he signs his extension and keeps his mouth shut. He loves his team. He loves hockey. He’s given up years of his life for this dream and he’s not gonna walk away now. 

“I’m glad you’re coming back, Tuukks,” Krej says quietly. 

They’re sitting on the roof at Krej’s apartment in Prague. Watching the sunset. Tuukka doesn’t say anything, because he’s currently a wolf. 

Krej scratches his head. “We’ll go to the Lapidarium tomorrow,” he says. 

Tuukka growls in agreement. 

“Or we can go to the zoo, if you behave,” Krej teases. “You could see the baby giraffe.”

Tuukka changes back, relishing how easy it is. “I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t,” says Krej brightly. 

Tuukka smirks, changes, and licks Krej’s face.

“Gross,” Krej says, shoving Tuukka away with both hands. “If you lick me again, I’m eating both _kolá_č_ky_ in front of you. That’ll teach you.” 

Tuukka just pants at him.

* * *

Considering how hard it was to come back from the EHL, Tuukka figured next season could only go up from there. He underestimated the extent to which his adopted city blames him for the loss to Chicago. The pressure is on, and it’s hard not to be angry when it seems like every sports writer and fan in the city has it out for him. 

When they lose to St. Louis in the stupid fucking shootout, he can’t take it. He also can’t break a fucking stick, which is probably better in the long run but extremely frustrating when he’s taking his anger out on one. He regrets it all in the morning when every publication and idiot on twitter is calling him childish and unprofessional. 

“Why am I so fucking stupid?” he asks the room at large. 

“Is that a question you actually want answered?” Marchy asks. 

“Head trauma,” Shawn offers, only half joking. 

Bergy glares at both of them. “It’ll blow over when someone else does something flashy.” 

“The ones who don’t think I’m acting like a toddler think I’m pathetic because I couldn’t even break the stick,” Tuukka groans. 

“You gotta catch the right part of the shaft,” Quaider offers. 

Tuukka fixes him with a look and he shuts up real quick. 

“Tuukks, stop scaring your teammates,” Zee orders. 

“Impossible,” says Brad, which sets Looch off. 

“We all do things that we regret in the morning sometimes,” says Bergy helpfully. 

Tuukka resists the urge to glare at him and his reasonable advice. He should apologize to Torey. Not that the criticism was unwarranted, but calling teammates out to the media when angry is not great for team dynamics. “Thanks, Bergy.”

“Let’s go,” Zee says. “Gotta put this behind us and get ready for Carolina.” 

Bergy squeezes Tuukka’s shoulder as he heads out to the ice. 

“Tuukka, a word,” Zee says. 

Tuukka holds back a sigh. “I’ll talk to Torey after practice.”

Zee smiles. “Don’t let them get to you.”

* * *

So he’s learned his lesson. No more outbursts where people can see them. If he wants to get angry, he can do it somewhere quiet and out of the way. That’s what he tells himself when they lose to the fucking Red Wings because his stupid fucking team can’t stop taking penalties. He can yell in private. 

“So what goal do you think was the killer?” one brave reporter asks.

He knows his eyes are yellow so he grits his teeth and keeps his gaze on his knees. “Probably the fourth, really gave them the momentum, and we never got it back.”

“Did you feel like you should have had that one?” 

His teeth sharpen to points and the answering throb in his wrist is almost enough to make him gasp out loud. “It would have been good to get a save there for sure.”

“Do you think your teammates let you down tonight with their level of play?”

The pain in his wrist intensifies. “We all had a bad night as you can clearly see on the scoreboard.” He’ll be paying for the snark in the morning, but it’s better than what he wants to say. 

There are more questions but the reporters finally seem to realize that he isn’t going to snap and give them something juicy. When the questions stop and he lurches to his feet, his vision dims alarmingly. 

“Tuukks, you good?” Quaider asks. 

Tuukka would answer except that he can’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears. The throbbing pain in his wrist has spread up his arm and he’s pretty sure he can’t unclench his jaw at all. 

“Tuukka?” That’s Krej and he sounds considerably more alarmed. 

Tuukka’s knees buckle and he’s dimly aware of hitting the floor, but not enough to do anything about it. 

“Oh fuck!” someone says. 

“Get a trainer!”

“Tuukka!” Krej is suddenly right there. “Bergy, there’s something wrong with his arm.”

Tuukka tries to open his eyes but even breathing is a struggle. 

Gentle hands touch his burning skin, Bergy. “Get Zee right now. It’s silver!” 

There’s a panicky whimpering sound that Tuukka eventually realizes is him.

“We’re here, we’ve got you,” Krej murmurs.  _ “Jste tak silní.” _

“You’re going to be okay, Tuukks,” Bergy says quietly. “I know it hurts but Zee’s coming.” 

It feels like forever but then there’s footsteps and yelling, finally warm fur. One of the wolves is nosing at his face. He’s not sure how he knows, but it’s Shawn. 

“What the fuck took so long?” someone demands, Marchy. 

“Had to get the cuff off,” Kells replies, breathless. 

“Oh Tuukka,” Zee sounds upset. 

Zee shouldn’t be upset. Tuukka tries to open his eyes again but his body won’t cooperate. It makes him angry which sends another sharp spike of pain up his arm. Fingers trace a familiar pattern on his shoulder and the pain relieving charm kicks in immediately. The relief is enough to send him over the edge and he blacks out.

* * *

“... close to the full moon?”

“Or extended stress … moon change is different from a stress change.”

“... spike in adrenaline … do you think …”

Tuukka wakes up slowly, hearing bits and pieces of conversation that eventually resolve into the voices of his Pack. 

“He’s awake.” 

“Tuukks can you open your eyes for me?” Zee asks. 

Tuukka blinks, eyes blurry. “Wha’happ’ned?”

“Silver poisoning, thankfully not that severe. You’ve been out about three hours,” Bergy explains. 

Tuukka has never heard of anyone getting silver poisoning outside of a full moon or a serious injury and he says as much. 

“It can happen if there is a prolonged high level of stress, eventually triggering a full stress change,” Zee says.

Stress changes are the kind of thing you’re supposed to grow out of when you start kindergarten, but they are not unusual for NHL shifters, especially those who have a cuff. Eyes are pretty common, even nails or teeth, but full stress changes are pretty much only brought on by something traumatic like a broken jaw or a cut to the throat. “I’m not hiding an injury.” 

“But you were mad,” Bergy says, not accusatory, just a fact. 

“I’m always mad,” Tuukka says. “I was trying not to make a scene this time.”

Sensing his unease, Shawn rolls over, half asleep, and presses his wet nose into Tuukka’s side comfortingly. 

“Tuukks--” Krej starts, but when he stops, he can’t seem to find the words he’s looking for. 

“We don’t care if you break every stick in the building,” Patrice says. “If it keeps you from getting hurt.” 

Tuukka’s eyes sting with unexpected tears. Patrice has that effect sometimes. “You know I can’t even break one,” he says, voice watery. 

“All the better,” says Zee smiling. “I’m sure the equipment managers will be much happier.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Tuukka has a few destructive temper tantrums which are not described in detail, after one goes over badly, he turns his anger inward and ends up losing control over his shifting and hurting himself, his teammates make it clear that this is not healthy
> 
> Notes:  
I handwaved a bunch of stuff but I'm also pathologically incapable of not doing a bunch of research so many details are accurate (though the story as a whole is obviously not lmao)  
\- Tuukka and Krejci were in Providence together  
\- Tuukka was snubbed for the Caldur in his rookie season  
\- The Lapidarium is a museum in Prague with a bunch of statues and architectural fragments, the Prague Zoo is also lovely and did have a baby giraffe, though I believe it would have been partially closed for flood damage at the time this fic was set  
\- Koláčky are little Czech pastries similar to a danish (koláček or koláč is the singular), my favorite flavors are poppy seed and apricot/cheese  
\- The stick breaking meltdown after losing to St Louis did actually happen, as did the backhanded dig at Krug, which the media was all over  
\- Jste tak silní means you are so strong


End file.
